


Yes Chef

by Crockzilla



Series: Domesti-Kink with Spideypool [23]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom!Wade, Dom/sub, F/M, Hand Feeding, Intimidation, M/M, Role-Playing Game, chef role play, top!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:03:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13156860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/pseuds/Crockzilla
Summary: Wade needs this job, but Chef Parker is strict (and sexy).Or: Peter and Wade made Xmas dinner.





	Yes Chef

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Merry Holidays, all!!! This is vignette 7 of 12 in notlucy and my We Wish You A Merry Kinkmas Series.
> 
> You don't need to have read the rest of that series to appreciate this fic -- just know that in this 'verse, Peter and Wade and Tony and Pepper and Bucky and Peggy and Steve are all staying at a cabin together for the holidays.
> 
> If you WANT to catch up on this series, start with Way Up North Where the Air Gets Cold by notlucy and me.
> 
> If you REALLY want to catch up on this whole 'verse, read notlucy's Brownstone in Brooklyn series (ww3some) and my Domestikink series (spideypool).

Wade very carefully applied the pastry brush to the immaculately-shaped garlic knots, trying to get melted butter into every crevice, just as he’d been instructed to do. As he was dabbing the ends of the bristles into the bowl of butter, he sensed the Chef approaching him, and he started, his hand slipping, flipping the end of the brush into the warm liquid.

No! Only a few drops had landed on the counter, the rest was on his chef’s smock -- perhaps it wouldn’t be noticed.

He held his breath as the Chef -- small but sharklike -- moved in very close to him. He could feel Chef’s sharp, unforgiving eyes sweeping over him, judging.

“Did you,” he finally said in a low, dangerous voice, “just fling melted butter all over yourself and my counter?”

Wade lowered his head in shame. “Yes, Chef.”

Chef didn’t move, just let out a low sound of disapproval that was almost a growl. Something perverse thrilled in Wade’s core -- he thought for a moment that Chef might touch him.

“Clean it up,” he said, disgusted. Wade quickly grabbed a dish towel and obeyed, wiping the mess from the counter top. “And get those knots coated -- they should have been in the oven five minutes ago.”

“Yes, Chef,” he replied, biting his lip and willing his hands not to shake as he picked the brush back up.

*~*~*

Tony silently observed the scene in the kitchen for a moment before leaning close to Pepper, who was seated at the counter watching eagerly. “Whaaat is happening?” he asked in her ear.

“Chef Parker is the most important culinary personality in the city,” Pepper explained in a low voice so as not to disturb the intense dinner prep that was happening before them. “Wade needs this job so that he can pay for his grandma’s reconstructive surgery after her motorcycle accident, but the Chef is -- very strict.”

“Ah,” Tony replied, not knowing what else to say. “So is this -- like a sexy scene -- or --?”

Pepper shrugged cheerfully and turned her attention back to poor sous chef Wade and his frightening taskmaster.

*~*~*

Wade lifted the colander full of haricots verts out of the cold water bath in which he’d just shocked it, setting them in a brilliant shade of green. As he put the colander down on counter (on a towel so as not to get water everywhere, of course) he felt Chef’s eyes on him.

This time he watched as the Chef approached him, eyes narrowed at the haricot verts. Wade tried very hard not to fidget.

“Did you par-boil those?” he asked in a deceptively even voice.

“Y-yes, Chef,” Wade stammered.

Chef hummed, but he couldn’t tell if it was a good hum or a bad hum. He watched helplessly as Chef picked up one of the slender green beans and scrutinized it. “Did you par-boil them long enough?”

“Yes, Chef.” Wade swallowed down the excuses and qualifiers that filled his brain -- Chef respected boldness, confidence.

Chef held him in his steely gaze for a moment, and Wade could feel his heart beating in his throat. Then, Chef held the bean out to him. “Eat it.”

Wade blinked. “I want to hear the sound of this perfectly par-boiled bean,” Chef explained, a twist of sarcasm in his voice. “Eat it.”

Wade reached with trembling fingers to take the bean, but Chef pulled it back. “No.”

There was a tense moment as Wade tried desperately to figure out what he was meant to do. Chef, brown eyes boring into him, held the bean out to him again, this time closer to this mouth.

Oh.

Wade forced himself to stay conscious as he slowly, hesitantly opened his mouth. Chef inserted the bean partway inside, then raised a brow, expectantly. Wade bit down and heard what he knew was just the right amount of crunch. He saw Chef relax in a way that suggested he was satisfied.

“Chew it up and swallow,” Chef instructed, impatiently, and Wade did so as quickly as he could without choking to death. To his surprise, Chef held the rest of the bean up to his mouth. He opened, obediently, and Chef placed the remaining bean all the way in, his fingers brushing Wade’s lips. Chef nodded, and Wade understood that as his cue to chew and swallow again.

“Slow down,” Chef instructed, and he did so, savoring the bright, earthy flavor. “Get those sautéed,” Chef said when he was through. “They’d better still crunch after.”

“Yes, Chef,” Wade said, trying to cover his disappointment as Chef moved past him to return to the turkey (which Chef wouldn’t let Wade anywhere near).

*~*~*

“Should we be watching this?”

Tony shrugged, popping more of the cheese that Chef Parker had brought them as an appetizer into his mouth. “They know we’re here, so they must be okay with it. I mean, right? Honestly, hon, your guess is as good as mine.”

“It just feels very -- intimate,” Pepper said, bringing a piece of cheese up to Tony’s mouth with a significant look.

Tony raised an eyebrow at his lady, but he opened his mouth to take the offered cheese. “Yeah? Are you feeling -- inspired?”

“Maybe,” she smiled, enigmatically, “but first I want to see what happens to poor Chef Wade.”

“Does he get to be called Chef?” Tony whispered. “Wouldn’t he be, like, Small Chef or Not Chef?”

“Peter hasn’t called him anything so far,” she replied, quietly, “it’s actually kind of heartbreaking because he’s so in love with him.”

“Who is?”

“Wade,” she said, as if it were obvious. “He’s super in love with Chef, look at him.”

“See,” Tony leaned in, conspiratorially, “I think Chef is in love with Wade, and that’s why he’s being so mean to him.”

Pepper nodded, impressed, but then they both turned their attention back to the scene in the kitchen as Chef approached his poor apprentice.

*~*~*

Wade actually really enjoyed chopping onions -- it was such a soothing, repetitive action, and his hands moved almost automatically, so much so that he could afford not to pay as strict attention to it as he had to his other tasks. He could pay attention to other things. Things like how good Chef’s ass looked in his jeans.  
He stifled a wistful sigh as he watched Chef reach back and forth with his ladle, pouring small amounts of his carefully-prepared broth over the cornbread mixture to make his dressing. Yes, Chef’s ass was exquisite, he thought as he watched denim stretch over the perfect curves.

He wondered how Chef found time to work out what with being the most important culinary mind in the city, but then Chef was nothing if not disciplined. Or maybe he didn’t have to work out -- maybe his amazing ass was a natural phenomenon.

Wade automatically ran his knife through the onion pieces to get them even and fine, imagining what it would be like to touch that ass. What if he just -- went over there and did it, caught Chef off guard? Would he gasp? Would that handsome but stern face suddenly turn vulnerable with shock? Would he perhaps then let out a moan and push his ass back into Wade’s hand, desperate for the contact?

He was so caught up in imagining what Chef would look like bent over the counter (ooh and what all exciting uses he could find for that turkey baster) that he nearly didn’t realize when Chef turned around to him, sharp eyes immediately going to fierce slits.

“What is that?”

For a horrible moment Wade was afraid Chef might be referring to the half-boner he was pretty sure he was sporting.

“What is that?” Chef repeated, pointing at the board full of chopped onions.

“It’s -- the onions, Chef?” he said, meekly.

That was evidently not the answer Chef was looking for, judging by the look of absolutely disgust on his face as he approached Wade from across the kitchen. “I know they’re onions -- what have you done to them?”

“Ch-chopped them?”

Wade fought the urge to curl into a ball as Chef placed his hands on either side of the board and leaned toward him, menacingly. “Chopped?” he repeated, venomously. “This is what you call chopped?”

Oh shit. Oh shit. Wade had totally forgotten, as he often did, that there wasn’t just one standard way to cut up onions -- there was chopping, which was thicker and blockier, and there was mincing, which was much finer.

He looked down at his onions. They were definitely minced.

“These are minced onions,” Chef hissed, picking up handful of the onions and letting them drop lightly back onto the board. “Not chopped -- minced. What is wrong with you?”

Wade could only stare down at his butchered onions in shame. What was wrong with him? He’d been so busy staring at Chef’s perfect ass that he hadn’t paid any attention to what he was doing, just going on autopilot, the worst sin committable in Chef’s kitchen.

“Why do you even want to be a chef?” Chef asked, face so close to his they were nearly touching.

To his horror, Wade felt a lump in his throat. Before he knew it, he was sniffling, brokenly telling Chef about his dream to be a middle-school history teacher but how he’d won a scholarship to culinary school due to a mishap with applications and now he needed to his meager sou chef salary to take care of his poor, sweet, motorcycle-enthusiast grandma and the reconstructive surgery that she so desperately needed.

Chef was quiet throughout his speech and said nothing as Wade tapered off, sniffling a bit. Then, he grasped the cutting board at either end. He was going to throw all of the onions away, and Wade was sure that would truly break his spirit.

“These will be okay for the spinach,” Chef said in a voice that was not exactly gentle but was not full of contempt. “They’ll cook faster than chopped onions, though, so you’ll need to keep an extra close eye. I had better not find a single piece of burnt, minced onion in my spinach. Do you understand?”

Wade nodded, wiping at his eyes. “Yes, Chef.”

“I want you,” Chef said, picking up a medium-sized onion from the basket, “to chop this onion. Just to drive the point home. Now, get yourself a clean cutting board.”

Wade scurried off to get a clean board, yelping at the sharp smack he felt land on his ass as he passed Chef. He turned around to see Chef looking at him with a distinctly primal smirk that sent delicious shivers all through his loins -- maybe Chef had caught him ogling his ass. “Hurry up.”

Chef watched him as he very carefully chopped the onion, making the long cuts and then going across them sideways to get even, identical, thick pieces. When he’d finished, Chef gave him a small nod. “Good. Get that spinach sauteed.”

Wade sauteed the spinach and haricot verts at the same time, watching them both obsessively as Chef worked next to him, finishing the dressing. They moved too close to each other a few times, their shoulders brushing slightly, and each time Wade stammered an apology. Chef just growled or grunted at him, but in what he thought might have been a slightly more affectionate way than he had earlier.  
“Let’s see how you’ve done,” Chef said when he’d finished the vegetables, picking up a fork and spearing a couple of the beans. Wade felt a warm, sparkling sensation inside as Chef brought the fork close to his mouth and he opened without needing to be told, earning a satisfied smirk from his mentor.

*~*~*

“So sorry we’re late --”

Peggy’s apology was cut off by Pepper and Tony shushing her and gesturing vehemently for the three of them to come sit at the counter and be very quiet. Frowning, Peggy looked to Peter and Wade, who appeared to be testing veggies.

“Oh thank god,” Peter said, throwing the fork he was holding into the sink. “Steve, potatoes are under the counter, we need enough for this pot, Peggy broth’s on the stove and giblets are in the fridge --”

“Is it over?” Tony asked with a crushed look on his face as Peter and Wade tore off their aprons and headed for the stairs. “What happens?”

“Will grandma get her surgery?” Pepper asked, standing from the counter.

“Yes yes yes, everything turns out great,” Wade said over his shoulder as he fairly shoved Peter up the stairs, “be back soon we have to shower!”

“I’m kind of sad that we missed whatever the hell that was,” Bucky said as he moved to help Steve peel potatoes, “but I’m also kind of glad.”

“It was harrowing,” Tony said as Pepper tugged him by the hand towards the stairs. “I’ve never cared so much about onions in my life.”

“Do you two have to ‘shower’ as well?” Peggy asked as she shook the bag of giblets into the saucepan, ignoring the retching noises that her boys made.

“Yes, be right back,” Pepper replied as she hurried Tony towards their bedroom.

“I mean, I guess it’s only fair,” Steve shrugged as Peggy rolled her eyes.

*~*~*

“Oh, Chef,” Wade said against Peter’s neck as he thoroughly patted him down with one of the fluffy towels, “you’re so exacting --”

“Was I okay?” Peter asked, eagerly as he fastened another towel around Wade’s hips. “It didn’t feel like it measured up to your Paul Hollywood scolding --”

“Well, it buttered my biscuits, that’s for sure,” he replied, giving his Spidey a deep kiss.

“Speaking of biscuits,” Peter said when they broke apart, “should I throw cookies in the oven or do you think there’s enough couronne for dessert?”

“I think Pepper’s making an apple tarte tattin,” Wade reminded as they both pulled their jeans back on, “and that you need to sit in my lap and drink wine and watch other people cook for the rest of the night.”

“Even at Xmas dinner?” Peter asked, smiling naughtily. “How will we eat?”

“I’ll just have to feed you, I guess,” Wade said as he tugged down his little love’s sweater in the back as they left their bedroom. “In front of everybody.”

“I guess that’s pretty tame compared to live-action-sexy-chef-roleplay,” Peter laughed, kissing him again as they made their way down the hall. “Merry Xmas, babe.”

“Merry Xmas...Chef.”

**Author's Note:**

> Blessings on Parrannah for the idea of chef role play!
> 
> Tomorrow's vignette is a super super super fun addition from notlucy that I won't tell you about because it is TOO delicious, but it's called Blue Satin Sashes!
> 
> Tumble us:
> 
> crockzilla.tumblr.com
> 
> notlucy.tumblr.com


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